Til Death
by Timeless A-Peel
Summary: Eighth in a series. Following their return from Canada, the team is called upon to investigate accusations of treason levelled at one of Steed's old friends. Their inquiries uncover a larger plot, one which will have lasting consequences for the triumvirate...
1. Teaser

'Til Death

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Eighth in a series. Takes place in September, 1977, shortly after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit,_ _Brazil_, and _Life on Mars_.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: If you've been visiting the _Avengers_ section of this site for awhile now, you might recall that, up until a few years back, I posted fics as part of my "arc" series, that was meant to flesh out the events of the series within the confines of the canon. Then life took a couple of unexpected turns, and writing went on the back burner, including the "arc" series. The gap stretched out longer than I intended, but I always meant to come back to it, at the very least to do the last two stories I had planned in the series. This is the first of those last two hold-outs.

This fic has proven particularly tough to write, for whatever reason, and has existed in a couple of different versions. The first one was written early on in my discovery of the show, and will never see the light of day (for everyone's sake). The second I got quite far into before I realised it just wasn't working, and threw it out. This time I think I've finally gotten it to work the way I wanted it to, especially in terms of pace.

This will be another long one, and I shall do my level best to get updates out in a timely fashion following this "teaser".

Enjoy!

* * *

John Steed negotiated the corner of the country lane carefully, lest the inordinately large wheel arches of the Jaguar catch on the hedgerows in the process. He still hadn't managed to replace his Range Rover after the last one met its end blocking Larry Doomer's rocket, and he was in desperate need of a more practical car to negotiate the less-than-forgiving terrain of the country. Still, that could wait. The telephone call that the Ministry had alerted him to not more than an hour earlier was monopolising his attention. Every neuron not required to navigate the Big Cat on the windy country road was engaged in directing his eyes to scan the roadway for any sign of his missing colleagues.

The Jaguar made the corner, but clunked alarmingly in the process. Steed winced noticeably, but then quickly forgot about the damage to his undercarriage when he caught sight of the figure perched on top of a low stone wall beside the road. Nearby on the small shoulder was the call box she'd undoubtedly used to make contact. Steed steered the car over to the shoulder and parked it as far as he could off the road, praying that no one would be negotiating the corner before he left. He alighted nimbly from the vehicle, bringing both bowler and brolly along, donning the former, and letting the latter swing naturally from his right hand. He slammed the car door loud enough that his colleague should have started in surprise, or at the very least looked his way, but she was staring resolutely at the ground. Steed frowned at the uncharacteristic lack of awareness of her surroundings, knew instinctively that something was wrong. He approached her hurriedly, every sense alive to the possibility of an ambush. The assignment had gone wrong, after all—someone, somehow, had managed to breach their cover. His colleagues been kidnapped-Steed had no doubt about that. The question was, had they managed to escape, or was this to be the site of the latest in the long line of hostage situations that dotted Steed's career? But there was no glint of a sniper's rifle in among the trees or hedgerows, and no hint that the figure still perched resolutely on the wall was restrained in any way. Which made her behaviour all the more puzzling. She was close enough to touch before he finally decided it was safe to speak.

"Purdey."

She looked up then, turned unseeing blue eyes up to meet his. There was a large smudge of dirt across her left cheek, with lines of clean skin cut through it in the shape of tear tracks, as though she'd been crying. She wasn't crying now, but her eyes bore the shocking clarity that came in the aftermath. Steed cast his gaze downwards, did a quick check for injuries. There were similar smudges on her hands and upper arms, and reddened marks around her wrists that spoke of restraint. Her arms and legs bore an impressive collection of small cuts and bruises, though the most serious was a gash on her forehead that had bled impressively, if the dried clumps in her fringe were any indication. Her stockings were a complete loss, full of nicks and runs, and there was mud on the heels of her impractical stilettos, but nothing to suggest serious injury or great pain. All the same, his next words automatically were, "Are you all right?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out, and she hesitated as if she didn't know the answer herself. "I..." she began, and her voice was hoarse and rough, scratching up through her throat as though it had been out of use for some time. "I'm...I'm not hurt," she told him, carefully, and with great effort, and Steed felt a deep frown crease his features.

"Pardon me for saying so, but you don't look all right. We'll have Kendrick check you over when we get back."

"I didn't say I was all right," Purdey protested, voice still hoarse. Now that he thought about it, she sounded as though she'd been shouting, as though she were losing her voice from overuse, not lack of it. "Because I'm not. It's not...I..." Her lips started to tremble, and fresh tears welled up from some reserve deep inside. Steed immediately put an arm around her shoulders, let her drop her head to chest before the first sobs came.

"There, now. I'll get you out of here, and you can tell me everything when we get back to London and you've had a drink, some food, and medical attention," he reassured, glancing around for any sign of his other colleague. "That is, as soon as we've picked up Gambit."

She looked up at that, quickly, head snapping up with such force that he looked down out of surprise as much as anything else. The look on her face tied his stomach in knots. "You do know where Gambit is?" he inquired, frown deepening.

But Purdey shook her head. "Gone," she managed around another sob. "He's gone."

"Gone?" Steed repeated, bending so he could look at her at eye level. "Purdey, if they still have him, we need to move quickly. Did they take you both to the same location? Did you escape?"

Purdey nodded. "Y-yes."

"Could you find your way back?"

She shook her head, buried her face in her hands. "There's no point."

"No point? Of course there's a point. If we hurry, we might be able to assemble a team before they move him."

Purdey was still shaking her head, over and over, and a muffled, "No, no," came out from behind her hands.

"Purdey!" Steed said with feeling, grabbing her wrists and pulling them away from her face. "This is not the time to go to pieces. If you know where Gambit is, we owe it to him to do our best to try and get him out. So pull yourself together and tell me, where—"

"Gambit's dead, Steed!"

She screamed it, raw and ugly, and with all the force of someone full of grief, and anger, and frustration, and desolation. And with the sort of conviction born of absolute certainty.

Steed froze, felt his heart stop, felt the world fall away, felt the shock creep in at the edges of his senses, until there was nothing left but himself, and Purdey's mask of sorrow.

"Dead?" he repeated, so quietly he thought she may not have heard, but her face told him she had. "Are you certain?"

"I wish I wasn't," she choked. "I saw it happen. He's dead, Steed. And it's all my fault."


	2. Home on the Range & Funeral Pyre

'Til Death

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Eighth in a series. Takes place in September, 1977, shortly after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit,_ _Brazil_, and _Life on Mars_.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: Apologies that I posted the teaser and then failed to update for over a month. Things got a bit crazy, and everything fandom-related went on the backburner. But everything's settled down a bit, so hopefully not such a long delay between pieces next time.

I should point out that this fic will jump back and forth in time rather a lot, between the events leading up to and following the teaser. I've tried the fic a few ways, and the pacing worked better this way than keeping things in sequence.

I'd also like to give a rather belated plug to rabidsamfan's "Even Dirtier", which is also being posted to the site. I've had the pleasure of reading it, and I'm now on betaing duties as well. It's a brilliant fic from a fantastic writer. If you want more of the TNA team, you owe it to yourself to give it a look.

* * *

_Five days earlier..._

"It's quite pretty for a training range, isn't it?"

Purdey folded her arms on top of the brick wall, and gazed out over the woodland far below and the rolling hills beyond. In the distance she could pick out a clutch of fluffy white balls that could only be a herd of sheep idly grazing. They were too far away to be bothered by the gunfire that had lulled over the past few minutes. She smiled at the scene, an idyllic picture of the English countryside. Even the area below her that had been cleared away to make room for obstacles and reloading stations had managed to retain a modicum of its natural beauty. It made a nice change from sterile Ministry corridors and dimly lit car parks.

"I've been a bit busy to look at the scenery," a voice behind her responded wryly, and Purdey turned away from the view to face the source.

"Come have a look, then," she offered letting her elbows rest on the ledge behind her.

"I think I'd better finish this first, don't you?" Mike Gambit was crouched a short distance away on the platform that held them both. He held up the piece of rope he was busy unknotting for her benefit. "We need a harness, and it isn't going to tie itself."

"Tie faster," Purdey suggested brightly, smile a mile wide.

"I could if I had some help," Gambit pointed out.

"But then _I'd_ miss the view," Purdey teased, well-aware that she was being difficult, but enjoying herself in spite of it.

"Ye-ess," Gambit said knowingly, shaking his head ruefully but smiling in spite of himself. "Of course you would."

"Anyway, you're doing perfectly well on your own," Purdey went on. "An ex-sailor like you. You've probably tied hundreds of knots. Thousands. Better than I ever could."

"You'll never know until you try."

"Hmm-hmm," Purdey chuckled to herself. "That wouldn't be very sportsmanlike, would it? I mean, we already have an unfair advantage compared to the other teams. If I helped you with that, too, it wouldn't be right at all. Consider me your handicap."

Gambit quirked an eyebrow. "Now you, Purdey-girl, are a lot of things, but my handicap isn't one of them."

"How charming." Purdey turned her back to him and returned her attention to the view. Gambit frowned.

"Get your head down, Purdey, before someone blows it off."

Purdey wrinkled her nose at him over her shoulder. "That's a bit melodramatic for a training exercise, isn't it?"

"Pretend blows it off then," Gambit amended. "Either way, you're a sitting duck standing there."

"Wouldn't that make me a standing duck?"

Gambit grimaced. "Very funny. Are you trying to lose us points?"

"No," Purdey countered in mild outrage. "But as you can see, no one's taken a shot at me yet, and I don't think they're about to start now."

"Past experience is nothing to go by. Ask David Hume."

"If I ever perfect my time machine, I shall," Purdey countered playfully. "Anyway, the only team that has a clean shot is Larry's, and Larry wouldn't shoot me." She paused. "You he might, though, so it's just as well you're staying down."

"Glad you approve. If you're so chummy with Larry, maybe you'd better be on his team, then."

"Then _he'd_ have an unfair advantage," Purdey opined.

"How so?"

"I'm the only one anyone else on the range is hoping to score a dinner date with. They want to stay on my good side."

"So they'll all be pulling for me, then."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with your winning personality."

"I hate to say it, but I think you're overestimating your own charm, love," Gambit told her, focussing on his knot. "Not when it comes to me," he added, when he felt her eyes on him. "But the rest of them. Don't get me wrong, but you're not going to neutralise a bad training score. Even you're not that beautiful." He looked up and met her eyes, winked. "Just about, but not quite."

Purdey blushed a little in spite of herself. "And what about you, Mike Gambit? Would you risk a bad score to stay on my good side?"

"I'm on your team, so I don't have to worry about that, do I?" Gambit pointed out, examining his knot with an appraising eye. It was ready.

"Do we have to use that?" Purdey wanted to know, clearly less-than-enthusiastic about Gambit's handiwork.

"It's either that or the pole," Gambit pointed out, indicating the smooth wooden cynlinder just visible through a gap in the barricade along the front of their platform. "And you'll be an easy target on the way down. Someone's bound to take a pot shot at you, no matter how much they want to take you for a steak."

Purdey smirked. "Gambit, you have no faith in humanity."

"Not the part of it out there, I don't," Gambit agreed, straightening up. "But feel free to try your luck. I'll be shimmying down the back, not getting shot at, if you need me."

"Gambit. I'm disappointed. Aren't we supposed to be used to taking risks by now?"

"Not unnecessary ones," Gambit reminded. "If we were in a tight spot and that was our only way down, then I'd lay down covering fire and get you to make a break for it. But not when we have this." He waggled the harness at her. "And not when someone's keeping score. You do want a good score?"

Purdey bristled. "Of course I do."

"Then let's go. Don't make me claim seniority."

Purdey's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

"If you do, I might be forced to make you a victim of friendly fire." Purdey pulled her regulation training range pistol from her hip holster and waved it at him warningly. Gambit raised an eyebrow.

"Are you defecting?"

"I'm going to claim self-defence. Against your bad puns," Purdey shot back, a small smile playing on her lips. She nodded at the harness. "Are you sure that can hold both of us?"

"Positive. Wrap your legs around and we can go."

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Don't you wish you knew?"

Purdey's next, probably impolite, comment was cut off by a siren echoing over the training range's loud speaker, followed shortly after by an officious voice. "The exercise is temporarily suspended. All agents are to remain in position and refrain from firing their weapons until they receive further instructions. Team seven has been withdrawn from the exercise on official business. Would they please report to the briefing room."

"That's us." Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances. "It must be Steed," Purdey continued, moving to the barricade and shielding her eyes against the sun as she peered across the expanse of the range to the control tower in the distance. She could just faintly make out a figure through the glass waving what could only be an umbrella. Purdey smiled. "It _is_ Steed," she confirmed to Gambit, who'd come to stand behind her. She turned round and added, brightly, "We must be needed," just before she dropped off the face of the earth.

Gambit watched Purdey slide swiftly down the pole to alight on solid ground, shook his head knowingly. "Show-off," he muttered good-humouredly, then followed suit.

Purdey was already on the move, but it didn't take very many strides to catch her up. "What do you think it's about?" she wondered as he fell into step beside her, scuffing her combat boot light-heartedly against the training ground's well-worn turf. "Have you heard of anything brewing?"

Gambit made a moue and considered. "Couple of things. Nothing major enough to bring Steed in, though. Not unless someone else mucked things up pretty badly. There's that international peace conference, but that's more security's job than ours—gah!"

Gambit's hand flew to the back of his neck. It came away red—with powder. He whirled round just in time to spot Larry Carrington, one-time victim of Juventor's brain-draining machine, waving at him from another platform, a smug smile adorning his features.

"Sorry, Gambit!" he called, with anything but remorse. "My finger slipped."

"I'll bet," Gambit shot back, considering letting his fingers do some slipping of their own—into a rude gesture. But Purdey was watching, and she'd only rib him for it. It was bad enough that she was waving cheerily at the enemy.

"If you're withdrawing, does that mean I get to take you to dinner?" Larry wanted to know.

Purdey shook her head. "You have to beat us, not win by default. That was the wager!"

Gambit slanted an amused eyebrow at her. "Really, Purdey? You bet on us?"

Purdey shrugged. "Why not? If we'd gotten the best score, we'd have the prestige. And if we lost, I'd get a meal. A girl does need a consolation prize. And I don't think your harness would make the grade."

"Never thought you were into that sort of thing," Gambit quipped.

"Oh, shut it," Purdey said good-humouredly. They'd made their way to the main building, a low, squat, concrete affair. "Come on, Steed's waiting. I'll bet I'm out of the changing room before you."

"What's the prize?"

"Dinner."

"Why is it that all your bets wind up being in your favour, even if you lose?"

"Because I'm clever enough not to bet the horses," Purdey said with a cheerful pat on the shoulder. "But if you win, I'm willing to let you keep your harness as well, since it seems so dear to you."

"Thanks ever so."

VVVVV

They emerged a quarter of an hour later, almost simultaneously, though Purdey claimed her foot was out the door a fraction of a second before his, and as Gambit knew he'd end up buying her evening meal one way or another, he didn't bother to argue, though he didn't fail to notice—or appreciate—the way her dress clung just a touch more than usual to her freshly-sponged skin. He could feel his shirt sticking to his own flesh due to the quick shower he'd had to rinse off the sweat from the course, but if Purdey noticed, she was being her usual coy self.

They found Steed in the briefing room, as promised, leaning against the large table used to spread out the map of the course for the benefit of the agents who would be running it, umbrella swinging idly from one hand, bowler resting on the table surface beside him, half-covering a manila folder. His face was creased with a small frown, and he appeared to be deep in thought, but he came back to the present as soon as they entered.

"Ah, there you are," he greeted, straightening up. "I'm extremely sorry to interrupt your annual refresher course, but I have something of an emergency on my hands."

"That's all right," Purdey said brightly. "It's not a complete loss. Gambit had the opportunity to practice his knots, and I'm sure someone will appreciate it."

"I'm not saying a word," Gambit said dryly, face impassive in stark contrast to Purdey's delighted grin. "We can always make it up in the next round. What's the emergency?"

Steed looked apologetic, which wasn't an expression the pair were used to receiving from the man who, for all intents and purposes, was their boss, regardless of how many dinners out they'd had. "I'm afraid it's rather personal," he explained, picking up the folder from beneath the bowler and sliding it across the table top to where Purdey and Gambit stood. Gambit stopped it with his index finger and turned it around in one motion. "George Sands," he read, head snapping up in unison with Purdey's own. "That rings a bell."

"If you've spent as much time snooping through my personal files as you claim, it ought to," Steed pointed out, and returned Gambit's faint smile with his own. Purdey looked from one to the other with growing impatience.

"As I'm not the spy, or the spy spying on him, would you care to fill me in?" she inquired, and was rewarded with near-identical looks of mild amusement from the two men. She crossed her arms impatiently. "Is one of you going to tell me, or will you act it out together in a tableau?"

"It's Steed's life," Gambit rescinded, opening the folder.

"And as my Lear was atrocious, as any of ex-masters at Eton will inform you, I think we'll forgo the dramatics," Steed chimed in, and amusement made another appearance across the two men's of countenances, before Steed's face once more resumed the frown it had been wearing a few minutes earlier. "George Sands was a colleague in the war. Not on the front lines, but the back rooms. Coding and decoding, cracking codes, that sort of thing. Brilliant mind. Brilliant man."

"And now?" Purdey slid a black and white 8"x10" from the file and regarded a slight, middle-aged man with thick glasses and greying hair.

"One of our best bureaucrats. Handles all the most sensitive files. One of the most trusted men in his department."

"Right." Gambit slid sheaf of papers from the file, and started to skim the contents. "Why are we interested in him, other than because he's a friend of yours?"

"Because he was arrested yesterday for treason."

"What?" Gambit's head snapped up in surprise. "Treason?"

Steed nodded in confirmation. "He was found with top secret files in his home, files that should have never been removed from the premises, something George would have known better than to do by mistake."

"Was found?" Purdey repeated, a frown creasing her features. "Who reported him?"

Steed's face, already very grim, somehow got grimmer. "His wife."

"What?" It was Purdey's turn to look surprised.

Steed nodded. "I can't believe it, either. George and Maud have been together since the war. One of the most devoted couples I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. They have two grown children and three grandchildren. Her turning him in makes about as much sense as George being guilty."

"Have you spoken to her?" Purdey wanted to know. "Asked her why she did it?"

"Yes," Steed confirmed, "but I'd rather not tell you what she said."

"Because you want us to talk to her again," Gambit said knowingly. "And you want fresh eyes. Unbiased ones."

"Exactly," Steed agreed. "I've tried to be impartial, but there's too much history on both sides. I'd very much like to see if you draw the same conclusions as I did."

Gambit nodded. "Anything George was working on that might explain why he went bad—_if_ he went bad?"

Steed sucked his teeth. "George handles any number of files, many of them sensitive, so there's rather a lot to choose from. The upcoming peace conference is the most imminent, but there's no indication that the files that were found in his home were linked to that in any way."

"Do we know what they're about?" Gambit wanted to know.

"We will—eventually. You know how sensitive some departments are when it comes to passing on their privileged files."

"They're looking for a sturdy pair of scissors to cut the red tape," Gambit replied with a knowing smile, and Steed chuckled.

"What about George?" Purdey cut in, not unlike the proverbial scissors. "Have you talked to him?"

Steed shook his head. "Not as of yet. They were processing him all night, and wouldn't let me anywhere near him lest I contaminate the interview. I've an appointment to see him an hour from now." He glanced at his watch. "I should be going now, as it happens. If the pair of you could meet me there once you've finished, I'd be grateful."

"Of course," Purdey agreed, handing the photo back to Gambit to return to the file with the rest of the papers.

Steed smiled with something like relief. "Excellent. I realise this is less an assignment than a favour, but I appreciate the help nonetheless."

"We understand," Purdey said sympathetically, leaning forward to rest a hand on his arm. "You know you can always rely on us, Steed."

"I know," Steed said, returning her smile. "And I'm very grateful." He looked to Gambit. "Were you planning on driving down together?"

Gambit looked mildly confused by the question, but answered nonetheless. "Hadn't really thought about it. I guess we could. Why? Is that important?"

"Not terribly. But it can't hurt to bounce ideas back and forth in the car on the way down. I'll see you back in town." With that, he made his exit, leaving Purdey to exchange mildly bemused looks.

"That was...odd," Purdey said after a moment. "What do you think it means?"

"With Steed, who knows?" Gambit sighed. "Come on, we can take the Jag, unless you really want to drive."

Purdey wrinkled her nose. "You do it. I think I still have a cramp from the flight back from Canada."

"I told you not to fall asleep against the window like that."

"So you did. Five times. Come on, then. Steed will be back to London before we've even left the building at this rate."

VVVVVV

_Five days later_

The remains of the building were still smoking, despite the best efforts of the clean-up crew to extinguish all the flames. Somewhere, deep within the shattered centre of the structure, a few embers still smouldered, tossing ugly grey smoke up into sky, where it was whisked off by the breeze to parts unknown. Purdey watched it spiral upwards, a blanket draped heavily over her slim shoulders. To her, this was a funeral pyre.

"In your own time, Purdey," Steed said quietly, a comforting presence at her side. "When you're ready, tell me what happened."

Purdey closed her eyes, willing the memories to come flooding back while fighting the emotional connections at the same time. It was easier than she had imagined—she'd cried so much, she was emotionally spent, and she could feel the cold creep of shock dance up her spine and over her shoulders, numbing her to everything and everyone. Now would be the best time, perhaps the only time, that she would remember this clearly. She knew she ought to make it count. She opened her eyes.

"The window was just there," she began, and she felt Steed snap to attention at her side. She managed to disentangle her arm from the confines of the blanket long enough to point out the space where the aperture had been, roughly, before it and the wall had been taken out in the explosion. "They were firing at me inside. There wasn't enough cover to make it to the door, so I knew I had to take the chance and jump through the window. And Gambit..." She bit her lip, felt against all odds a fresh sob climb into her throat, but she suppressed it with a deep breath. "Gambit was already dead," she managed. "So there was nothing to do but get out."

Steed nodded, not trusting himself to comment, painfully aware that any interruption could shatter Purdey's fragile calm, and any chance he had of gleaning a clear picture of events.

"The window was closed," Purdey continued. "I broke it going through, and it...I ended up scratched, but not too badly. But I landed wrong. I was in such a hurry, and I was...I hardly knew what was happening at that point. In shock, I suppose. I fell, hit the ground, and the wind was knocked out of me." She swallowed, and suddenly the bruises she'd been ignoring throbbed painfully. "I don't think I was down for long. I-I knew that they were going to chase me, so I got back up, and ran. I ran for the woods." She started walking, slow, deliberate steps that followed her original path, and Steed followed. "I thought I might be able to lose them in there, or at the very least use them for cover. I kept waiting for more shots, but there weren't any." She frowned, a furrow appearing between her brows. "It seemed wrong that no one was chasing me. Even at the time, I thought it was odd. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see someone, but no one was there." She came to a sudden stop. "That was when the building blew up." She hugged the blanket closer to her body. "It threw me off my feet, and I...I was stunned. I don't know for how long. But when I got back to my feet, it was on fire, all of it, the whole house, burning up. I stood there, I waited to see if someone, anyone, was going to come out. But no one ever did. No one. Not even..." She lowered her eyes to study the charred grass beneath her feet. "No one," she repeated softly.

Steed, satisfied that she wasn't going to go any further without prodding, chose this moment to jump in. "You're absolutely certain no one left?" he pressed. "If no one was firing at you, is it possible they could have left by another exit before they destroyed the house?"

"It wasn't very long," Purdey replied. "Between my escape and the explosion. A minute, ninety seconds, no more. But I suppose they must have done. Smith wasn't suicidal. And I think…I think I could smell petrol when I was inside." A line appeared between her eyes as she struggled to think logically. "They might have been planning to destroy the building from the start, decided to cut their losses rather than come after me."

"So it's possible," Steed decided, knowing even slim chances were more probable then first glance may suggest. "What about after the explosion? You say you were knocked off your feet. Could you have been unconscious?"

Purdey shrugged pathetically. "Maybe. But it doesn't matter, Steed. I know what you're thinking, and it's not possible."

"How do you know whether it's possible or not? For that matter, how do you know what I'm thinking at all?" Steed inquired.

"Because I know you, Steed," Purdey said flatly. "And you've become so used to the impossible, you've come to think it's more likely than anything else. And I know what you want to think, because it's what I want to think, too. You want to say that they could have taken Gambit out some back way before the explosion, and that he's with them now, and if we can find them, then we'll find him. Alive." The tears were flowing again, the blue eyes bright and moist. "And maybe they did take him, Steed. Maybe he wasn't in there when that explosion happened. But it doesn't matter. Because he was already dead, Steed. He was dead, and there was no way to save him. Only I could have done that, and I failed. Oh, hell." She covered her face with her hands. "I failed him, Steed! I failed him, and now he's gone!"

Steed put a comforting arm over her shoulders, and started to gently guide her away from the scene before she collapsed completely. "I'm taking her to Kendrick," he told a member of the clean-up crew as he passed him on the way to the Jaguar. "I'll file my report and her statement by morning."

The crewman nodded his understanding, and Steed was able to concentrate on the more important task of folding Purdey's rapidly-crumpling frame into the passenger seat of his car.


	3. The Interview & The Examination

'Til Death

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor the characters of Mike Gambit, Purdey, and John Steed. Sadly. They're the property of The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. This story is for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended

Timeline: Eighth in a series. Takes place in September, 1977, shortly after the conclusion of the series in the Canadian episodes. It is strongly recommended, but not essential, that you go back and read the previous stories in the arc, _Lost Boys, Anew, Aftermath, Dance With Me, The Anniversary,_ _Merry Christmas, Mr. Gambit,_ _Brazil_, and _Life on Mars_.

For more information about the series, please see my profile.

Author's Note: I'd like to take the opportunity to wish a very happy birthday to Joanna Lumley, who played Purdey. She turns 68 today. Here's to many more.

* * *

**_Five days earlier_**

"So," Purdey began, once she was firmly ensconced in the passenger seat of the XJS and they were well on their way to the Sands residence. She had the man's file in her lap, from which they had acquired his address, and were now winding their way down the country lanes that led away from the Ministry's training range. "What could possibly possess a happily-married, highly respected, very competent, extremely dedicated man, one vouched for by Steed of all people, to suddenly decide to walk out the door with top secret files?"

Gambit turned his attention momentarily away from the road and regarded her. "There's always the obvious."

Purdey returned his look. "He's being got at."

"Or the wife's being got at."

"Or they're both being got at," Purdey finished, flipping the file open and examining the first page.

"And if it's both, are they being got at by the same person?" Gambit added.

Purdey pulled a face. "If it was the same person, what could they hope to accomplish by having one inform on the other? He's been arrested, and they must know we're going to be watching her."

"Maybe they don't care," Gambit suggested. "Or maybe they did it to seed mistrust in the department, and they don't give a damn about the files."

"Maybe," Purdey allowed, flipping to the next page of the file. They drove in silence for a few minutes, before Gambit spoke again.

"'Course, it could be more innocuous than that."

Purdey looked up from her reading and arched an interested eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Gambit shrugged as best he could without taking his hands off the wheel. "Maybe they're not as happily married as everyone thinks."

Purdey regarded him sceptically. "Gambit, do you honestly think a woman would have her husband arrested for treason because he didn't take the rubbish out?"

Gambit's half-shrug made another appearance. "People have killed for less."

"I think this job's given you a nasty, suspicious mind," Purdey tsked in disapproval. "Anyway, it doesn't explain how the files ended up in the house. She certainly didn't have clearance to access them."

"True, but there could be ways around that." Gambit shifted in his seat so he could take the wheel one-handed. "All I'm saying is that you might think you know all there is to know about a person, what they think of you, what your relationship is, and you can wind up getting it completely wrong."

There was something about the way he said it that made Purdey think he wasn't talking about the case. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, but his face was impassive. Still, there was definitely something off. "Are you all right?" she asked, and Gambit turned infuriatingly inexpressive eyes on her.

"Fine. Bit jet-lagged from the flight back from Canada, maybe, but I'll live. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Purdey said truthfully, still scanning his features for something, anything, she could put her finger on, but nothing leapt out at her. "Are you annoyed with me?" She almost surprised herself with the question, had hardly realised she was even thinking it until the words had left her mouth. They seemed to catch Gambit unawares as well, because now he was looking at her as intently as she was him.

"No," he said carefully, reaching down to change the Jag's gear. "I'm not annoyed with you, Purdey."

"Oh. Good." Gambit returned his attention to his driving, but Purdey's gaze lingered on him a little longer, wondering just what it was that had put her off. "Will we be there soon?" she inquired, hoping to steer the conversation into neutral territory.

Gambit was looking out the driver's side window. "Should be," he hazarded. "Just around the next bend, if I haven't got the route wrong."

He hadn't. They pulled up to a pleasant cottage, conveniently situated far enough outside of London to be firmly in the country, but not so far that a man who worked in the city would face a punishing commute. Gambit parked the XJS, and they stepped out, leaving the file behind, knowing it would serve as a hindrance rather than a help if Mrs. Sands saw them constantly consulting it during the interview.

They moved to the door wordlessly and rang the bell, glancing casually around at their surroundings while they waited. They'd conducted countless interviews like this one before, both separately and together, and they didn't need to say anything to ensure they were on the same page. When the door opened, they slipped smoothly into professional mode.

"Hello, Mrs. Sands," Purdey greeted, treating the woman peering out at them to a warm smile. "I'm Purdey, and this is Mr. Gambit. We work with Steed. " She paused while Gambit pulled out his ID and let the woman examine it. "We understand this is a very difficult time, but if you feel up to it, we'd like to ask you some questions about your husband."

Mrs. Sands was a small, slight woman, late fifties, with elegantly swept up grey hair, and pleasant features drawn due to stress. She didn't seem surprised to see them, had clearly gone through this procedure before, and was expecting to do so again. "Yes, of course," she said, voice soft but audible. She stepped back to allow them entrance. "Please come in. Would you like some tea? I was just about to make some for myself."

"Thank you." Purdey stepped inside, followed by Gambit, and Mrs. Sands closed the door behind them, before hurrying toward the kitchen.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," she said, just before she disappeared from view. "I won't be a moment."

Purdey treated her to another warm smile, and let her go. Sometimes she'd offer to help, but she could tell in Mrs. Sands' case that the woman would welcome both the distraction and the opportunity to compose herself before the questioning. She looked over her shoulder to see what Gambit was doing, and found him poking around what had to be Sands' desk. "Gambit," she hissed. "Steed told us to talk to her, not turn her flat over. It's already been searched."

"He didn't tell us _not_ to look around, either," Gambit pointed out, glancing up momentarily from his task. "And they can miss things. Besides, it gives us some context." He picked up a framed photo on the desk, showed it to Purdey. It was of a much younger Mr. and Mrs. Sands, obviously on their wedding day.

"They look happy," Purdey observed.

Gambit turned the picture over and examined it. "Probably were. Doesn't mean they are now."

"He keeps it on his desk. That must count for something."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Purdey's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "You're very cynical today."

Gambit put the picture down. "Am I?"

"Yes," Purdey asserted, as he crossed the living area to join her. "You've been in a mood since the drive down. And before you say it, I don't think it's jet lag."

"Then I can't help you," Gambit said flatly. "But if you've got another explanation, I'm all ears." He ignored Purdey's puzzled frown and turned his attention to the kitchen door. "Thank you, Mrs. Sands."

"Not at all." The older woman had returned bearing a tray laden with tea things. She set it down on the coffee table, seated herself in an armchair, and proceeded to pour. Gambit and Purdey took the couch opposite, fielding questions about milk and lemon as gently as possible in an effort to help her relax as much as possible, even if that was going to prove a near-impossible task given that she'd just turned in her husband.

Once the tea was straightened out, and they'd each taken a couple of sips, Purdey gently broached the subject at hand. "Mrs. Sands, I realise this is very difficult for you, but if we're going to help your husband, it's very important that you answer our questions as best you can."

Mrs. Sands nodded. "Yes, of course. I know the procedure. Although I don't know how much help I'll be. I don't have anything left to say that I haven't already told the others that came before you."

"It can seem very repetitive," Purdey agreed. "But sometimes new things occur to you in subsequent interviews. Even the way the questions are phrased can give us a new lead." As per an unspoken understanding, Gambit was keeping quiet. Though neither of them particularly enjoyed playing to type, the fact was that, in certain circumstances, an interviewee simply wouldn't take questions seriously if they came from Purdey, but would if they were backed up by a grim-looking Gambit. Equally, no matter how kind and understanding Gambit was, some people only saw a young man whom they automatically regarded with suspicion, and thus were more receptive to Purdey. The latter scenario seemed more likely to be in effect in this case, and thus Gambit was letting Purdey take the lead, doing his best to look as unobtrusive as possible while trying not to spill tea on the carpet. Purdey thought the image of Gambit with a delicate, hand-painted bone china cup and saucer balanced on his knee ought to put a dent in any persona Mrs. Sands may have assigned her colleague, right up to "hardened killer". Purdey herself was having difficulty resisting the urge to smile at the sight, but Mrs. Sands looked as though she could be easily upset no matter how softly he spoke or much Earl Grey he drank. Purdey elected to play it safe. After all, Mrs. Sands had no way of knowing he faithfully fed a sparrow every morning.

"Mrs. Sands, can you tell me what happened last night?" Purdey asked gently.

The older woman nodded. "George came home at the usual time. He seemed normal. Not tense or evasive. Sometimes he brings his works home in his satchel. Low-level security files that he's allowed to take from the building. He looks at them before bed. I saw him take them out and put them in a drawer in his desk, just as he always does. But I could tell there was something different about them. When he took them out, I saw red labels on the covers. I may not work for a top-secret department, but I've learned enough from George to know that red labels mean 'most secret', and you aren't to remove them from the building under any circumstances. All the files George brought home had green labels, so these caught my eye. I knew something was wrong."

"What did you do next?" Purdey's voice was calm, soothing, but the questions urged her to continue.

"I was shaken. I didn't want to believe George had done it, or if he had that he'd done it on purpose. I certainly didn't want to think why. But I knew I had to see for myself, just to make sure I wasn't imagining things." She fiddled idly with her teacup. "So I waited until he was sat down to dinner, then I told him I had something I needed to attend to in the kitchen. I left him and I—" She covered her eyes with her hands. "I betrayed his trust. I looked at the files. My own husband! And I spied on him. What kind of a woman does such a thing? And what makes it worse is that I was right. They were top secret files. I saw them with my own eyes."

"And what did you do once you found them, Mrs. Sands?" Purdey pressed gently.

"I rang George's office," she murmured back. "Heaven help me. I reported my own husband as a traitor."

"Why?" Purdey wanted to know. "Why didn't you ask him about them first, or try to hide them, or simply say nothing? Didn't you want to protect him?"

"Of course!" She sounded outraged, and her expression confirmed it. "I thought of all of that—hiding them, talking to him, lying for him. But what good would that have done? What if he didn't listen, or he was in too deep to stop, or they found out anyway? No. It would have caught up to him, to us, sooner or later. I reported him because I thought it was the best way to help him, stop him before he made it worse, or ended up killed, or killed himself, or got caught. I thought you might be able to help him more than I could." She buried her face in her hands. "I didn't know what to do. It was the only help I knew how to give."

"It's all right, Mrs. Sands," Purdey soothed, reaching out to rest a reassuring hand on the older woman's shoulder. "You made the right decision by asking for help, for both your sake and George's."

Mrs. Sands peeked through her fingers at Purdey. "Do you really think so?" she asked tremulously.

"Of course." Purdey's smile was kind. "Now, do you need a moment, or do you feel up to answering a few more questions?"

Mrs. Sands removed her hands from her face, and nodded. "I'll be all right," she sniffled, blotting away her tears with a handkerchief she had stashed up her sleeve. "What would you like to know?"

"Has George seemed worried in the last few weeks? Anxious? As though he were frightened of someone?"

She shook her head. "No, I hadn't noticed anything different about him. We were as happy as we'd ever been. That was why it was so surprising. If I'd suspected, it might be understandable. But this…there was no warning."

"And you say you were happy? There's been no change in your marriage or family life?"

"None," she stated emphatically. "I mean, there was the marriage counsellor, but that doesn't really count."

"Marriage counsellor?" Gambit spoke up for the first time, and Purdey started slightly in surprise. He'd been so still and silent beside her, it was almost as though he wasn't there. Almost. He was the reassuring presence by her side, double-checking everything she observed and drawing his own, separate set of conclusions, but clearly he felt that they were on to something significant enough to risk upsetting Mrs. Sands to get to it. "What marriage counsellor?" he asked, keeping his tone even.

Mrs. Sands looked anxious, as though she was afraid she'd said something wrong. "Well, it's your department, isn't it? Or George's. They've asked their married staff to engage in marriage counselling to try and prevent their home lives from interfering with their work. You know how they're always muddling in your private life for security reasons"

Purdey and Gambit exchanged sceptical glances. "When was this?" Purdey inquired.

"Oh, it started about two months ago. George received a memo saying all married staff were required to report to a Dr. Smith for sessions. We went half a dozen times. It was never meant to be more than short-term."

"And were there any problems?" Purdey wanted to know.

"Oh, no. Dr. Smith said we had a very strong marriage. He said we were made for each other." She cast her eyes downward. "I wonder what he'd say now."

Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances again. "Mrs. Sands," Purdey asked slowly. "When did you last see the marriage counsellor?"

She thought for a moment, a frown darkening her features. "Well, it must be four days now. It was three yesterday. That seems so long ago, but I suppose that's to be expected. Time's taken on a different meaning since last night." She smiled weakly. "But he wouldn't have changed my mind about what I did."

"And you haven't been approached or threatened by anyone at all?" Purdey pressed.

"No," Mrs. Sands repeated. "No, nothing, I promise you. I saw what I saw, and I acted as best I could." She shrugged. "That's all I can tell you."

"All right." Purdey set down her tea cup on the coffee table. "Thank you, Mrs. Sands. I think that's all we need for the moment." She looked to Gambit, who nodded his agreement. "Thank you for being so helpful. We'll do our best to try and get to the bottom of Mr. Sands' situation."

"Thank you," Mrs. Sands said genuinely as they rose. "Thank you. It gives me solace to know that there is at least a chance that you'll find a way to clear him. I can't conceive of George doing this. I really can't."

"We'll do our best, Mrs. Sands," Purdey assured, taking a card from her purse. "If you think of anything else, call us. Either one of us or Steed will be in touch."

"Thank you," Mrs. Sands said, clasping the card to her chest. "Thank you."

VVVV

When they were out of the house, and the front door was safely shut behind them, Purdey looked to Gambit. "Well?" she inquired, falling into step beside him.

Gambit shook his head. "You first."

"She seemed genuine," Purdey declared, watching their feet fall naturally into sync as they walked. "She didn't seem to be hiding anything, or lying. Everything she said was the truth, as far as she knew it. She was definitely upset, but that's understandable when her husband may be imprisoned for treason."

"Yes," Gambit agreed, looking thoughtful. "It's the stuff she doesn't know that worries me."

Purdey frowned. "What do you mean?"

Gambit shook his head. "I'm not sure. But something's not right, even if it's not Mrs. Sands. I can feel it."

"Instinct?"

Gambit nodded. Purdey wasn't about to discount it. Steed was always telling them to cultivate it.

"Well, if that's the case, let's hope Steed's instinct gives us more to go on," she replied, just before they got back in the car, bound for London.

VVVV

**_Five days later_**

Steed was waiting in the corridor when Dr. James Kendrick stepped out of his examination room. He leaned in to speak to the doctor, face lined with concern. "How is she, Kendrick?"

Kendrick plunged his hands into the pockets of his white coat with a sigh. "Physically, she's fine. Marks on her wrists where she was restrained. Cuts and bruises from going through the window. The sedation drugs have successfully cleared her system, and there are no complications as far as I can see."

"But...?" Steed could see by the look in the doctor's eyes that the other shoe had yet to drop.

Kendrick cast a backwards look at the closed door, mouth pursed, before turning back to Steed. "She's in extreme shock," he said flatly. "By the time you brought her in, she was practically numb with it. I could barely raise a response from her throughout the entire examination. If I got a monosyllabic answer, I considered myself lucky."

Steed nodded in agreement. "She was halfway there when I found her. I think she used up the last of her strength telling me what happened. By the time we were on our way to London, she'd shut down completely."

"It's difficult to blame her after what she's been through," Kendrick opined, concern battling with disbelief in his eyes. "Do you think what she says is true? About Gambit?"

Steed passed a hand over his forehead. "I've been asking myself the same question," he admitted. "I don't _want_ to believe it, and as long as we don't have a body, there's no way to confirm it." He paused and drummed his fingers on the crown of his bowler, clutched in his right hand with an iron grip.

"But...?" It was Kendrick's turn to wait for the other shoe.

Steed ceased his drumming, wishing that he could have left things where they were, but it was part of his job to consider all the possibilities. Even the terrible ones.

"Purdey swears she saw it happen," he murmured. "And with such conviction that it's nigh on impossible to think she's lying. More importantly, she has no reason to lie. She's possibly the last person on the planet who'd wish it to be true, even if she'd never admit it."

"Her body's admitting it for her," Kendrick said grimly. "I'd keep her overnight for observation, except I think she'd fare better in familiar surroundings with a friend to keep her company. You wouldn't mind taking her back to the farm with you? Security protocol won't let me discharge her to her family, and she certainly shouldn't be left alone."

"Of course I'll take her," Steed said, without hesitation. "Perhaps she'll say something that will clear things up once she's had some time to think on it."

"It may be quite a long time," Kendrick predicted. "She believes he's dead, Steed. I'm convinced of that. And I doubt anything less than Gambit walking through the door will make her believe otherwise."

"The remains from the explosion just might," Steed contradicted. "There most definitely was a body in that house, but it was very near the centre of the explosion. As a consequence, pieces may be...missing." He swallowed the word, unaccustomed to the sensation of vomit trying to creep up his esophagus. He thought he'd beaten that unwanted biological reaction in the early days of his career. "Assuming they don't belong to Gambit, it could prove that he's still alive. They'll be in the morgue just as soon as the clean-up crew has finished."

"I'll do my best to make a positive identification, but in that state, it'll be difficult to make out much of anything," Kendrick told him. "I'm so sorry, John. For all our sakes, I hope if I do manage to identify them that it's someone else."

"We won't know anything for certain until you've checked," Steed said tonelessly, returning his bowler to his head. "First, we'd better see about Purdey."

Kendrick nodded once, following Steed's lead and using professionalism as a shield. "She should have a blanket on her during the drive out. I'll lend you one of ours."


End file.
